Things that Happen at Midnight
by Eyeneversleep
Summary: "Are we staying up all night?" "Oh, quite possibly. Don't worry, I'll be gentle." Domesticated Arthur/Eames. Eames worries that Arthur is growing bored and devises a plan to keep him up all night long. M for language and graphic sexy times. Last chp is up
1. Witching Hour

**A/N-This is my first time writing domesticated Eames and Arthur. I wanted to try writing them all ready as a couple but with angst of course! I'm having a blast writing this, I feel it's so low pressure compared to what else I've written which has loads more action/suspense and building up of the relationship.**

**I hope you enjoy it as much as I do and please review-thanks so much!**

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Things that happen at midnight

Witching Hour

"I'm bored. Let's fuck."

His tone was completely serious yet the other man didn't react. Not one part of his perfectly tailored self flinched or moved one inch. His body was completely still. He continued to keep his steady eyes carefully trained to his Ayn Rand's: _Atlas Shrugged_. Eames shuddered; he never knew how he could read those dreadfully long, dreadfully stale things for hours on end. But he was Arthur.

Eames swirled his drink in his glass, one hand firmly planted on the white, expansive kitchen counter wanting to start chaos. He was good at it.

Their apartment was eerily calm and quiet. The one lamp and the small fire glowing in the fireplace the only light sources casting odd shadows on the wall, bouncing and playing off the corners of the room. And clean, much too clean. Arthur liked it dark and quiet-two things that summed up the young man very well.

Eames' eyes wandered from Arthur's silhouette planted in his favorite chair, his back to him facing the windows. His eyes seemed to warble and dance to the windows, the curtain surprisingly not drawn. Big fat flakes were falling silently and aggravatingly slowly like they couldn't make up their mind making the whole situation more mind numbing.

"You're drunk," he turned a page with a sudden flick of his wrist and deft fingers, too fast for Eames to comprehend. He still hadn't given him the courtesy of looking at him.

Eames swirled his drink faster, liking the CHINK noise of the ice hitting the glass as if giving him the answer.

"And why aren't you again?"He took a long gulp setting the glass down almost too hard on the counter, it slipped from the condensation and almost slid off the edge, Eames catching it a second later and successfully jabbing his arm on the edge of the counter as well. He released a little grunt of pain.

Everything was so hard, angular, filled with sharp points and 90 degree angles. Eames like comfort, soft, soothing, round, plush, relaxing things, things that couldn't hurt him but when it came to decorating he was told he had no taste. To say he made a lot of sacrifices for him would be an understatement.

Eames could sense his smile as he studied his page, silently mocking him for his half drunken foolishness.

"I'm tired," he shut his book with a sudden SNAP, getting up quickly, moving around the small living room with quiet authority, everything has its place. He padded to the bookshelf on stocking feet-about as casual as he got, carefully putting Ms. Rand back in her intimate place among the other books with the same last initial. He hovered there for a moment and Eames knew without seeing what he was doing from his angle that he was running his fingertips lightly over the bindings of his many volumes of novels, marveling, liking the feel of them. He told Eames he would always buy hardcover for that reason-he had to feel them and to smell them whatever that meant.

Eames finished his drink liking how it successfully made him warmer, the room slightly spinning and his mind sloshy.

Arthur had crossed back to the coffee table downing his wine with one last shot and came quietly towards the kitchen. Eames was in the way but didn't move. He knew how to push the other man's buttons and again he thought chaos was in order on a cold winter night with nothing to do. It was only witching hour and for once he wanted Arthur to break out from his routine.

Arthur tapped on his wine glass to get his attention. Eames greeted him like he hadn't even noticed he was standing, leaning against the counter, totally blocking his way. He flashed him the biggest grin he could muster, cheeks literally hurting.

Arthur was not pleased.

They stared at each other for a moment, maybe uncomfortably if they hadn't been living together for several months and lately been around each other 24/7 from the incessant snow, stuck inside. Arthur gave him the blank faced, no expression stare, his eyes looking a million miles away which Eames knew meant he was exasperated and or tired which in this case were both.

Eames responded by leaning into the counter more sticking out his behind to further block his path, shooting him a challenging yet smoldering look, all eyes and a pout.

"You gotta pay the toll, luv." He loved acting like a child like this to see what he would do.

He tapped on his wingless again, inhaling and exhaling slowly-a hasty sigh.

"You're being an asshole. I don't want to play games now. I want to sleep, move."

Eames tapped his foot on the polished floor. He leaned towards him.

"Quick, give me a kiss."

Eames knew he took it too far, Arthur's smooth face going hard. Eames was always pushing it but he blamed the alcohol.

In one of their sweeter, more pleasant memories Arthur told Eames in a drunken rush at their favorite bar, blushing, that he had kissed Ariadne during the inception job. He told him, fumbling, what he did and how he instructed her, tricked her. This didn't shock Eames very much. He had heard far worse things. Eames knew that Arthur had successfully hidden his feelings for him at that time and was still trying to convince himself that he could be attracted to others, namely women. Arthur saw it differently; he felt he needed to tell him-to "clear the air" and to be honest with him as they started the relationship since she was a colleague. Eames did appreciate his honesty but didn't give a flying fart who he kissed, colleague or otherwise before he was with him. As long as he came home to him every night he didn't care who he was with in dreams. Eames answered him by pulling him into a fierce kiss not caring who was watching in the crowded bar.

"Was it like that?" He asked smugly when he released him, again not caring about the kiss just loving Arthur's startled, ruffled reaction.

Arthur was blushing harder, his dimple on the right side of his mouth in full force, looking damn near irresistible, straightening his crooked bow tie. He shook his head. "No, it was more like this," He came in more slowly and gently brushed his small, smooth lips to his own larger, plump ones, releasing him about a second later. Arthur looked rather pleased with himself with "recreating it."

Eames couldn't help but smile and smother a laugh threatening to come out. It was a kiss you would give to your Grandmother for Christ sakes, why was he even worried? That was Arthur though, old fashioned, by the books, however small the detail had to be accounted for.

That was the very beginning of something, their time together. And now?

Arthur shoved at him, rudely, almost successfully pushing him over and stumbled into the kitchen, swooping up Eames' now drained glass and placing both glasses in the sink, rinsing them out meticulously. He never could sleep with dirty dishes lying around he always said. His eyes were narrowed; jaw set tight, clenching, chewing on anger.

Eames pointed to his now spot clean glass that was drying on a towel. "Didn't say I was done with that."

"Well you are now. Don't you think you've had enough?"

Arthur was tidying this and that, not even aware he was doing it, working out his anger.

Eames closed the gap between them placing his much too hot hands on his thin shoulders, him trying to shrug them off immediately but Eames gripped tighter not letting go.

"Sorry, forgive my intoxicated ramblings and nonsense."

He tried again to shrug him off but it was a weak attempt Eames noticed.

"Would if you didn't do it all the fucking time," it wasn't completely harsh, more of an observation.

Eames squeezed coming closer still, taking whatever kitchen gadget out of his hand and tossing it to the side. He ran his hands down his arms slowly liking the feel of his waistcoat and shirt, his muscles and bones, settling around his thin waist nuzzling his cold neck. "Calm down luv, I'm sorry, truly," he breathed. He was always apologizing for something it seemed. Maybe it was because he wanted and needed his attention so badly like a schoolboy, the little scraps he tossed him weren't enough. Somewhere deep within there was a fear too but the alcohol had successfully blotted most of it out. It was a fear that Arthur was growing bored, namely with him so Eames devised a plan right then and there.

Arthur squeezed his hand that was resting on his waist, his breathing slowed Eames noticed. Eames' system was flooded by a warm feeling by his cold touch. Even the simplest, tiniest gestures did wonders on him. Whatever Arthur felt like giving him was always accepted easily.

Arthur patted his hand, a: "Let go now, I'm tired and this folly has gone on for too long" gesture.

Eames released him thinking that he at least wasn't too cross with him now.

Arthur surprisingly reached for his hand giving him a crooked smile. He looked like he was going to say something when he yawned hugely. "Let's go to bed," he managed after a moment tugging at his hand moving out of the kitchen.

Eames let him lead him as far as the living room when he began to resist so that Arthur couldn't pull at him very easily. Arthur stopped and looked over his shoulder at him, eyes searching, shadows dancing on his pale face.

"Stay up with me for a change. We don't have to go in tomorrow," he jerked a thumb to the window and tried to keep the plead and beg out of his voice.

Arthur looked suspicious but he wasn't shooting him down right off the bat so Eames supposed it might actually be working.

He released his hand. "What did you have in mind?"

Eames released a pleasured sigh. "Don't ever ask me that, darling. You're not going to like the answer," he winked.

Arthur looked smug and raised his eyebrows. "Fine. I'm tired of your games anyway. I'm going to bed with or without you."

He swooped in quickly and planted him a small kiss, too stealthy for Eames to react in his partially drunken state and he was breaking away just as quickly. "Goodnight," he turned his head and was moving to put the fire out.

It was now or never. "You won't fall asleep you know. You like it so bloody cold in here and you like to use your own personal furnace," he pointed to himself.

He shrugged as he extinguished the fire. "I'll manage."

Eames chuckled. "That's not what you said last night. Remember? It was bloody freezing in here you said but you just instructed me to spoon you and I had to hold you a certain way and you said that you could never sleep any other way again in cold weather-I was just too damn comfortable and you loved the feel of my..."

"Enough all ready. I know what you're doing and it's still no. I'll sleep by the fireplace if I need to."

Eames was always concerned about his zero percent body fat and how he got so freezing cold so fast yet he said he liked the cold! Ha-and he was the bloody Queen of England. He just didn't like to admit that he was uncomfortable or that he loved that Eames was a furnace, always running a tad too hot, clutching at him under the covers or on the couch under a blanket, nuzzling him, loving his warmth. Eames was grateful, he felt needed if only for his body heat.

"Don't be ridiculous, darling. No need for that. Let's make a small wager to settle all this silliness shall we?"

He used his most confident tone-the one he used for forging.

Arthur turned and faced him finally, hands on hips, an incredulous look on his face. "You've got to be kidding me."

"If you stay up with me tonight for as long as I want or can then I will do all the housework and all your other beckonings without question or hesitation. I won't even pester you for sex."

Arthur shot him a hard, disbelieving look, crossing his arms, staying close mouthed. Eames could literally hear the gears turning in Arthur's head. Eames ran with it.

"Think of it, darling. You would be gaining so much in this deal compared to what I'm getting. All that I ask is that you stay awake and keep an open mind especially when it comes to…well you know," he scratched the back of his head.

Arthur exhaled deeply, pinching at his tired eyes.

"What is this about really? Where did this come from?"

"Are you taking the deal? Because if you are then as part of it I'll tell you."

Arthur mumbled something under his breath about him being an asshole again.

He blinked several times, chewing his lip, face impassive.

"Are we staying up all night?"

"Oh, quite possibly. Don't worry, I'll be gentle."

Eames couldn't believe that Arthur was actually considering it!

"Just for tonight and then you'll do my every beck and call? No whinings for sex? And just to clarify I don't want you doing any housework. I don't want you anywhere near any cleaning supplies or breakable objects."

Eames had to literally bite his tongue from the pure glee he was feeling. He wanted dance and to shout out in pure excitement.

He nodded tasting a little blood in his mouth.

"Just keep an open mind. You just have to go with it, within reason of course."

It was like they were hashing out an extraction deal expect with bedroom politics and talks of cleaning the apartment. Both men were dreadfully serious now, staring each other down, making sure the other was serious before sealing the deal.

"All right I'll do it but if I'm cranky tomorrow then you're to blame."


	2. 1 am

**A/N-I could write Eames/Arthur all day! :)**

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1 am

Eames felt he was in a dream and in his half drunken state and from the pure joy he was feeling he felt for his poker chip in his rumpled pants pocket feeling further satisfied when he knew it was his true totem. He wasn't in a dream, Arthur had actually agreed to something utterly ridiculous. Eames felt flustered and didn't know what to do with himself. He had Arthur at his disposal, possibly for all night!

Arthur was starting another fire, rubbing at his thin arms. Eames capitalized on him being distracted and practically bounced to the kitchen, a spring in his step.

He made drinks for both of them knowing Arthur always hated what he made him, never touching them but with their agreement he would have to drink it-he had to keep an open mind. He was positively gleeful and in his haste he couldn't find the drawer for the utensils so he settled on stirring their concoctions with a finger, hoping he didn't see it but knowing he would. Arthur saw everything.

Eames whirled around, feeling like he was floating on cloud nine and saw to his delight that Arthur was seated at the breakfast nook, face propped up on a fist, looking tired andmiserable.

Eames placed the drink in front of him, taking a sip of his. He made them particularly strong. Making Arthur horny was an art form Eames found and step number one was usually to get him a little drunk.

"I'm not drinking this horrid thing that you stuck your fingers into," he eyed the brown liquid like it was a disease, sweeping up to Eames' face a second later, making a face.

Eames took another long drink of his, loving the burn as it traveled down his throat. He placed his glass down, placing both hands on the clean counter, leaning towards his lover, looking at him deeply.

"Would you rather I stick my fingers in something else?" He felt satisfied with the slight blush that crept up on Arthur's delicate face. He loved making him uncomfortable, he lived for it.

Arthur squirmed a little under his stare. "This is all a lame attempt to have sex with me isn't it?"

Eames swooped up his drink, feeling a grin come on but smothered it by draining his glass. Arthur would need to drink his fast to catch up with him. He wanted them both silly with drink.

"Absolutely."

Arthur released a blurted out laugh, one that Eames knew was disbelieving.

"But why go through all the trouble? Do you think me too cruel to reciprocate if you actually attempted to put some moves on me instead of asking to simply 'fuck'? You know I don't respond to just asking, it has to feel right."

Eames didn't want a lecture. He wanted complacent Arthur, the Arthur he knew when they first met and started the relationship, the Arthur that made moves on him and didn't want to leave the bedroom. He wanted spontaneity and laughter. Arthur picked everything apart and analyzed everything to death. Eames did too but he kept it internal-that's where the two men differed.

Arthur was watching him closely, waiting for a response.

Eames pointed to the brown monstrosity that Arthur hadn't touched. "Did you want wine instead? I'll drink that."

Arthur blinked several times, looking bewildered. He sighed heavily in defeat and nodded, knowing he wasn't going to get a straight answer from the forger and apparently he remembered the "open mind" part of the deal.

Eames moved to open a bottle of wine from Arthur's collection, knowing Arthur was watching him curiously. They would have plenty of time to talk but now he wanted Arthur drunk.

He heard the CHINK of ice hitting glass and he knew Arthur had tested the drink he made him.

He paused in opening the bottle, his back to him, waiting for it.

"Despite dirty fingers this is actually tolerable. I'll drink the wine later." He heard ice hitting glass again.

Eames wanted to scoop him up and carry him to the bedroom, feeling the flood of alcohol and affection rush his system but he would have to stick to the delicate and intricate plan and he would have to resist for the time being.

Eames made himself another drink, careful not to make it too strong. He would drink it slower too, let Arthur catch up.

When he finally turned around to face him again he had finished the drink he made him. Eames had to stifle back a look of surprise. Arthur caught his stare and a little grin creeped up on his face-one that Eames loved all too much.

"What? You don't think I can drink anything but wine? I can out drink you." These were both ridiculous statements and both men knew it.

Eames laughed. He rarely saw Arthur reach for anything but wine and the smaller man could hold his alcohol but Eames had five years and more weight on him. Eames thought desperately for what to say. If Arthur was challenging him then he would definitely do it, he just didn't want his point man to get falling down drunk, too intoxicated for love making.

"Are you proposing a new deal? A deal within a deal?" He took a small sip of his new drink feeling vindicated. Maybe Arthur would enjoy himself tonight.

Arthur cracked his knuckles, looking a little flushed from the strong drink he downed.

"Yes. I'll wager I can drink more than you tonight. If I win then I get to shave you. If I lose then you get to do something to me, non sex related of course."

Eames would have let Arthur shave him anyway if he just asked. In fact he probably would do anything if Arthur just asked. He was perplexed but intrigued by the new deal. He wasn't sure what Arthur's angle was. Was he just trying to keep up with the silliness of the evening? Was it the drink all ready working through his small system? Maybe deep down he really just wanted to shave his five o'clock shadow and couldn't work up the nerve to actually ask him? He felt like losing the deal just to let him do it but where would the fun in that be?

Eames swirled his drink, looking at the brown liquid as it twirled around and around.

"Ok, I agree to the new deal on one condition. We drink slowly, no need to rush and I want you coherent for the first part of the deal."

Arthur nodded, leaving the bar stool and was walking around to the kitchen with his empty glass. Eames felt like blocking him again but decided against it. Arthur seemed like he was finally in a good mood and he didn't want to spoil it.

He came up next to him, reaching for the bottle that Eames had been using to fix their drinks. Arthur didn't know shit about bartending or mixing drinks and Eames repressed a laugh. Arthur didn't like asking for help so he did it for him.

Eames gingerly took his glass; leaning into him until he could take in his smell, feeling intoxicated by it. Arthur responded the way he wanted him too and leaned in further still, brushing his lips to his lightly, breaking away a second later, a tease of a kiss. Eames tried to come in for another but Arthur playfully thwarted him, busy getting some ice out of the freezer.

Eames was stunned as the realization hit him. Arthur was playing his own game and had devised his own plan!


	3. 2 am

**A/N-I don't know why but I love torturing Arthur XD**

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2 am

New drinks in tow they moved to the living room finally.

Eames marveled at the younger man's cleverness and skill. He never ceased to amaze him which was half of the attraction and appeal he found.

They always had a healthy competition going ever since they first met and that competitiveness often found its way on the home front as well. But never like this.

Eames felt his control waver as he was lost in thought as to what Arthur had going on in his pretty little head. He wouldn't let the other man's scheming ruin his fun though.

"Sit on my lap."

Arthur was stoking the fire, looking cold as usual. As with most things Eames blurted out without thinking the younger man didn't even flinch.

When he was done stoking the flames he turned to him looking tired and smug.

"I'm not allowed to ask why?"

"You're always complaining you're cold and I've always wanted you to. Now that you agreed to my deal you can at least entertain the idea without sneering at it. It might even help you stay awake." He was bouncing his leg that was crossed at his ankle, tapping the sofa.

Arthur crossed his arms, looking far too serious.

"If this turns out to be a trick then I'm going to be very angry."

"I love you angry," he turned his attention to his drink letting the new warmth flood his system.

He heard Arthur take a sip of his own and when he placed his own glass down on the end table and looked up he saw that Arthur was right before him. The younger man pushed his leg down so it wasn't crossed. Eames marveled at how the simple act made him incredible horny and had to suppress a smile. Arthur looked uncomfortable and wary which Eames loved. He carefully lowered himself so that he was sitting on Eames' thighs like he was a chair, back to him. Well, that wouldn't do. He sensed that Arthur wasn't putting his full weight on him either which was ridiculous as well-he weighed less than nothing in Eames' opinion. He instructed Arthur to sit on his lap sideways so that his legs were stretched out on the couch, he would be more comfortable and Eames could see him better.

The younger man begrudgingly obliged, repositioning himself with Eames' help. He put a warm hand around his back, his other rested on his lower leg; Arthur kept his hands clasped together in his lap. He loved feeling his tight ass on his legs, too close to his crotch and it took a lot to will his hard on to go down. He wanted to lay him on the couch right there and fuck him.

"No funny business," he muttered as if he heard his thoughts.

Eames stroked his leg affectionately, pulling his pant leg down. "Never."

"So you devised this evening to play out all your fantasies?"

Eames reached over to take a long gulp of his drink, trying not to like the feeling of Arthur's weight on him.

"You forgot about the ploy to get you in bed," he drained his glass, cursing himself for drinking it too fast yet again.

Arthur laughed to Eames delight. He again had to suppress the urge to wrestle him so he was on top, pinning him down and ripping his clothes off.

Arthur settled his head in the crook of Eames' neck, putting an arm around his stomach in a half hug, deepening their contact.

"At least you admitted it, I can admire the truth, however bizarre it is." He felt Arthur inhale deeply.

Eames would tell him the real reasons later, no reason to spoil the moment or the ideas the other man had with figuring him out.

Eames repressed closing his eyes; to do that would be suicide and possibly lose the first deal. The act was so comforting though and he loved feeling him so close, he stroked his head and heard Arthur release a sigh which brought about another wave of horniness. He realized as Arthur gave him a kiss on the cheek that his original plan of getting Arthur horny was crumbling, he was the one that was getting too tipsy and turned on. Eames cursed the other man silently. He wanted him to move but didn't at the same time.

He had day dreamed about him in his lap many times before, however stupid as it was. He never thought to ask him to actually do it; he thought Arthur would dismiss it right away as something too childish.

"Am I supposed to tell you what I want for Christmas? Is this some kind of Santa themed fantasy?" He breathed into his shirt, giving it a kiss.

Eames was full blown hard now and didn't care if Arthur felt it. It was something about the way he was teasing him and kissing him but not kissing him that was driving him crazy. This was playfully sexy Arthur that he didn't get to see too much anymore. That was the real fantasy.

He felt like a Zen master and willed all his desires down into a little ball he imagined, tucking it away into a dark corner.

"I thought you said no funny business," he didn't like how shaky his voice was.

Arthur was moving to his neck now breathing into it, making Eames squirm.

"For you, not me. I want to torture you."

He licked his neck slowly releasing a heavy moan from Eames.

He couldn't take it anymore. He had to at least taste him for all the insane madness he brought upon them.

He brought Arthur's face to him and kissed him fiercely loving that Arthur was reciprocating, exploring him with his tongue. Hands were gliding over this and that but it was over way too soon, Arthur was breaking away with a breath, wiping at his mouth, a smile on his lips.

"Santa would never do that," he adjusted his waistcoat, pulling his sleeves down.

He got up before Eames could protest. He liked the way Arthur stumbled and tried to hide his own hard on. Eames was good at catching things too, Arthur just underestimated him. Eames wanted to point it out but didn't, still sticking to his original plan. He wanted Arthur so eager and pent up that he would practically beg for it.

Arthur drained his drink, wiping at his brow. At least Eames was able to give him a little heat.

"What's next?" Arthur fanned himself and moved to the kitchen, presumably to fix himself another drink, hopefully wine.

If Eames didn't know better he was beginning to think that he was enjoying this.

Eames moved to join him in the kitchen.

"Dress up."


	4. 3 am

**A/N-Yes I did do research on Tom and JGL in case anyone was wondering-for their respective ages and heights. I like to have the details right. I always thought JGL was a lot shorter but in fact he's 5'10! And Tom is 5'11! I think in Inception they made Leo look a lot taller than JGL, probably because he was the protagonist, the "hero" and all that. Funny how that works since Leo really isn't much taller than either of them, like 5'11-6 feet! Just little bits of random info for ya.**

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**3 am

Arthur was thankfully not trying to kill himself with a mixed drink and was opening a bottle of wine, struggling with it.

"I'm sorry," he tugged at the cork, Eames trying not to think it was an extremely sexual gesture. "Did you say 'dress up'?" He managed to finally get the cork out and was opening the cabinet for a wine glass.

Eames made a point to come along right beside him, barely making contact but letting him feel his heat.

"Yes, luv." He was deciding want drink he wanted, liking the way Arthur was sweating, trying to move away from him and seeing the little nervous smile play on his face.

He was enjoying this to a degree though he wouldn't admit it to Eames directly.

"You mean like what little ten year old girls do at slumber parties?"

"Why have you been to one of them?"

Step two in getting Arthur incredible horny was to play into what turned him on. Unfortunately for Eames it was well dressed men. Eames definitely wanted to dress better for him but didn't know how so he was going to delve into his closet and wear his clothes. He also had plans for what Arthur would wear.

He was reaching into their liquor cabinet for his Crown Royal, grinning hugely.

"I know that smile. You're up to no good."

Now Arthur was standing as close as he dared without touching him, beating Eames at his own game. He was good. He could feel that Arthur was radiating heat now-most likely from all the alcohol and their fondling on the couch. Eames was pleased.

Arthur swirled his wine in his glass with deft fingers and bony wrist, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. It was just one of dozens of things that Eames didn't understand about him-like he lived in a different time and marched to the beat of a different drum. He took solace in the finer, richer things where Eames would be content with shooting dice in an alley, telling stories and singing at the top of his lungs to a song he didn't even know. He made his own fun. They definitely had different upbringings and backgrounds though this was the longest and best relationship he had ever had and didn't want to mess it up. He hoped Arthur felt the same.

Arthur was watching him, doing his wine tasting thing, a peek into a life that Eames had no business witnessing and he seemed content with him watching.

"Do me a favor and stay here for a moment," he was putting back his materials for his drink.

"Is this another fantasy?" He was mocking him.

Eames took a long shot of his drink; he would need some liquid courage for this one.

"Yes, will you stay rooted here?"

Arthur released a disappointed sigh. When Eames chanced a look at him he nodded his head, wineglass elevated and he didn't look entirely happy.

Before he could lose his nerve he made a beeline for their bedroom and went straight to their closet, well it was mostly Arthur's really. Eames didn't possess quite as many outfits as his partner and opted for putting his things in the dresser instead since his things were "always wrinkled anyway".

The walk in closet reeked of him-his cologne, his shampoo, mint, and leather, always clean and crisp. He inhaled deeply loving the smell. Arthur organized his suits by color and Eames went to the blues remembering Arthur told him he looked good in navy and that it "brought out his eyes."

He knew which one he wanted-a navy with subtle white pinstripe. He would match it with dark blue shirt of his own and a gold tie. In his growing tiredness and half drunkenness he found it very hard to get his belt and pants off and tripped and fell into the nightstand nearly toppling it.

"What are you doing in there? Is ruining our place part of the fantasy?"

"Har, har. No, I'm fine, really, thanks so much for your concern." He rubbed at his injured legs and knew it would have hurt more if he wasn't feeling the effects of the alcohol.

"Well, bring your English ass out here then."

Eames had managed to get his pants off finally and was desperately trying to find his blue shirt in his mess of clothes.

"You're cute American ass can wait a moment. Why are Americans so impatient anyway?"

They often poked fun at one another's nationalities always complaining loudly about such and such ridiculous, overused stereotype but both confessing they loved each other's accents. It was a running joke that neither got tired of.

While rummaging yet again through the same drawer he thought he did four times all ready he found it, it was slightly wrinkled of course but he was a mess with an iron, always burning things so it would have to do.

"We're used to getting our way," his voice sounded closer.

Eames threw his shirt off in a fluid motion; he would worry about cleaning up later. He donned the new shirt, buttoning as fast as he could and threw on the navy jacket, it was tight but it would work for what he needed it for. Arthur's pants were going to be more of a problem. Though Eames was only an inch taller than him, Arthur was a lot smaller around the waist. He was jealous of his naturally slim figure. He could eat anything and everything he wanted and he never gained an ounce. Arthur called it a blessing and a curse but Eames just shook his head and watched him eat heaping portions of whatever, whenever. He worked out though, he was basically one big muscle and zero fat, hence why he got so cold all the time. Of course Eames had to work out as well and couldn't eat junk all the time. He tried to limit his alcohol intake too but that usually went out the window, hell it always went out the window especially on these cold winter nights when there was nothing to do and his partner wouldn't give him sex.

He was more self conscious of his body around him and he didn't like that about himself. Though Arthur complemented him many a time and said he looked and felt good he was always uneasy, wanting to look good for him. Hence stuffing himself in a suit that was a couple sizes too small.

He had wild hopes of getting him fatter so that they were the same size and could share clothes but that was just not happening.

Arthur would be the same weight until he died.

Through sucking in his gut, struggling feebly and feeling like a 16 year old girl that was in denial about her weight he was able to wrestle the pants on, fearing he would rip them and if that was the case he would be a dead man-this suit was definitely not cheap and was tailored just for him. He ran to the bathroom mirror and inspected himself. He ran a hand through his hair, sweeping it more to the side, slapping himself on the cheek for good measure, meeting his reflection with a smile and a wink. He ran back to the closet and through Arthur's electric, revolving tie rack until he got the gold one. He was rubbish at tying a good tie and he knew Arthur would fix it for him later. He was regrettably feeling more of the oncoming's of tiredness. He was a night owl by nature but it was creeping up on him slowly, sinking into his skin and bones, crawling all over him. He gave himself a pinch to revive himself. He didn't want Arthur to win. He had more he had to do.

"Are you masturbating in there? You know I don't like you doing that on the duvet," thankfully he sounded like he was back in the living room, not meandering through the hall.

"Sod off. I'm almost finished."

Eames found his best black belt, almost feeling breathless from the much too tight pants and found his least scuffed pair of black oxfords-the ones he knew Arthur approved of in the past, completing the look.

He charged out of the bedroom not letting him doubt himself anymore or give himself any more second thoughts.

Arthur was seated on the couch, tired, reddening eyes trained to the window, watching the slow flying snow. When he heard Eames approach he turned his attention on him and his face was priceless. Eames wished he had a camera. It was a Kodak moment-as the American expression went. He was picking up on more and more of those from him.

Arthur's smooth, pale face was drawn up in surprise and dare he think "delight". It may have been a trick on his eyes but even in the low light of the dimly lit room he could tell he was generally shocked and pleased.

He inspected him like he was a rare species. Eames just leaned into the wall, propping an elbow and resting his face in his hand. He shot Arthur a smoldering look.

Arthur was leaning forward, on the very edge of the sofa now and motioned for Eames to come closer. Eames liked the gesture a little too much.

He straightened Arthur's suit and strutted towards him, doing a little spin like he was on a catwalk.

Eames saw Arthur suppress a small smile. The bastard was enjoying this.

Arthur got up from his position on the couch when he was right before him.

He tugged his sleeves down, picking at this and that, looking him over again. He knew what was coming next. Arthur reached for his tie, a look in his eye that Eames couldn't quite place.

"You're 33 and can't tie a tie. You're a sad Englishman. Don't they teach you how to do it in grammar school?"

Arthur's cheeks were flushed and his dark eyes were reflecting the fire still slowly burning he noticed in their close proximity. Arthur loosened the shoddy knot and undid it. His hands were fumbling and not up to par with his usual deft authoritativeness. He was drunk.

"I am a sad Englishman. I don't drive a James Bond car, wear a bowler hat or drink tea throughout the day either."

"Well," he was busy trying to redo the tie, forehead furrowed, concentrating much too hard. "I would think they would teach you all the same."

"I didn't have a father figure, luv."

His face seemed to flush brighter and he lowered his glowing eyes further looking embarrassed. He muttered: "Sorry, I forgot", mumbled something else about being drunk and was nearly done but was lingering, straightening it, making it tighter. He smelled of booze and faintly of cigarettes.

Eames tried to get him to look at him. When Arthur finished he finally did, he was definitely getting drunk. His eyes had that glassy, faraway look.

"You haven't been smoking have you?"

Arthur cleared his throat, taking a step back and crossed his arms. "No. It's disgusting."

Eames didn't believe him. He was a bad influence on him in certain ways but he didn't think he was that impressionable or that he would steal his fags though the smell of smoke was palpable. He should have been angry but the idea of him smoking was incredibly sexy.

Arthur wouldn't meet his eyes and since he wasn't confessing he decided he wanted to fish for a compliment. "How do I look?"

Arthur looked at him finally and smiled, his dark, shiny, glassy eyes roaming all over him. He came up to him again, pulling at the suit coat and looking at his sleeves. "Do you even have to ask? I'm not sure why but the suit looks better on you, especially now that the tie is tied correctly. I like," he stole a kiss.

Eames felt extremely vindicated and pleased. He tasted the nicotine on his breath, furthering his suspicions but was very turned on all the same. He wanted to fuck that nicotine mouth, just fuck it right out of him. As he felt new warmth spread all over his body at the idea he was again struck with the thought of who was playing who in all these deals they struck. Was Arthur doing this to mess with him? He was getting himself successfully, horribly turned on but was Arthur?

Eames wrapped his arms around him and moved in to kiss him deeper, wanting to explore him and suck out that nicotine.

Arthur thwarted him though by putting his head on his shoulder, a sneaky gesture.

"So this is the fantasy where you want to wear my clothes?"

"Partially," he lied.

Arthur moved from his position on his shoulder and drew away a little, looking at him curiously.

Eames looked at him deeply. "It's your turn."

Arthur laughed fully making him look youthful and gorgeous-his pink cheeks burning in the firelight.

"There is no way I am wearing your ridiculous clothes."

Eames chuckled. "Oh no, Arthur dearest we're not swapping clothes I have something better for you."

That sobered the other man up quickly and he was back to his curious, doubting look.

Eames released him and turned to walk back to the bedroom motioning with his head for Arthur to follow.

He heard Arthur walking behind him. Eames immediately went to his dresser and wrenched the bottom drawer open; it was crammed to the brim with a hodge-podge assortment of random clothes. Arthur was leaning against the door frame, looking afraid or wary to come in further. "You're not gonna make me wear a police or firefighter outfit, something kinky are you?"

All sorts of wild ideas ran through Eames' alcohol, liquefied, turned on mind and although it was tempting to have Arthur use handcuffs on him he dismissed it. He still wanted to stick to his original plan though it was proving to be more and more difficult. His hard on was beginning to feel like torture.

In his drunken, horny state he was having a hard time finding what he was looking for. All he could think about was how good Arthur felt and tasted and the way his eyes roamed all over him as he wore his suit. He was going to get it out of him one way or another, he was going to get him to confess that he was smoking for whatever reason and he was going to have to start counting his fags, keeping better track of them.

He sensed Arthur's impatience and knew his OCD cleaning tendencies were probably kicking in wanting to clean up the mess he left earlier of his scattered clothes around the bedroom.

He rooted around a little more until he found it, it was a black garment bag that he actually took the time to fold up neatly, for once, and tuck away. He had tried to be neat and orderly thus confusing himself further since he usually was never organized or gave a shit about the condition of his clothes.

Eames came up from his crouched position and presented the garment bag to Arthur, trying not to grin.

Arthur took it from him, afraid to touch it, wrinkling his nose and winching.

"I know I'm not going to like this."

"Just remember, you have to keep an open mind."

"If this is what I think it is I'm going to slaughter you."

Eames watched him closely as he made a face and gingerly unzipped the garment bag just a little, peeking inside. His face screwed up in horror as he took it in.

"No, it's definitely worse than what I thought."


	5. 4 am

**A/N- This is probably a little late in the game to mention but: I don't own anything Incpetion wise. I also appologize for the long chapters to come as I have to fit a lot in for our two characters before sunrise! As always: please review :) Thanks much!**

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4 am

"There is no way in God's green earth I am wearing this!" Arthur's shouted words were slightly slurred and he looked tired as all hell but still absolutely gorgeous piping mad.

Eames crossed his arms, suppressing a yawn, raised his eyebrows instead and gave a little shrug as if to say: "Well if you want to just give up…"

Hands on narrow hips, his dark eyes bored into his. "Why do you even own this? Wait, you know what. I don't even want to know," he made an exasperated gesture, exhaling angrily and was moving past Eames to presumably throw the garment bag on the bed. Eames knew he would be angrier if he wasn't so drunk or tired.

"It'll look good on you."

Arthur threw it on the bed, pretending not to hear him but paused there, back to him and Eames knew he was probably going to start cleaning to work out his anger per usual. As if on cue he began picking up Eames' discarded articles of clothing around the room, stumbling and cursing as he did it.

"I don't know what kind of sick fantasy that's about but…"

"One where we're a high society couple and I'm squiring you about town, showing you off to everyone, getting everyone's attention maybe first with a gasp but then with a sigh as they take us in and want to be us."

He had come right up behind him in mid crouch as he was picking up Eames' pants. He sensed Arthur's pause and hesitation. Step three in turning Arthur on: Old, classic, vintage movies and that whole '40's and '50's vibe and charisma. He loved Fred Astaire, Ginger Rodgers, Rita Hayworth, all the timeless, classic actors. Sometimes Eames thought that maybe in a past life he lived among them.

Congruently step four in getting Arthur incredibly horny was to make him think he was in control, that it was his idea. He loved being in control.

Arthur turned around and faced him slowly, clutching Eames' clothes to his chest looking a little curious but puzzled.

"You still didn't answer me as to why you own a dress and an expensive one at that."

Eames took a step closer to him.

"You said you didn't want to know."

"I changed my mind."

"Past forging job," Eames blurted out much too quickly but he wanted to be purposely vague. He didn't want Arthur ruining their fun with his insistent questions. Arthur cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Will you wear it for me, just for a little while?" His voice was almost a whisper and he had closed the gap between them completely now, resting his blazing hot hands on his thin shoulders. Arthur looked fidgety and twisted Eames' shirt in his hands, chewing on his lip. Eames knew by that look that he was thinking about it, considering it

Arthur released a string of curses, mostly about him and pinched at his eyes, mumbling something else about being too tired and old for this shit.

He walked into the bathroom, he saw him deposit his clothes into the clothes hamper, shaking his head. He walked back into the bedroom, keeping his eyes focused on the bed, continuing to shake his head.

He pointed to the door as he was unzipping the garment bag the rest of the way.

"Out."

Eames wanted to crush him into a bear hug, it turning into something more of course. The night was dwindling and he realized he hadn't gotten him to the level he was supposed to be at yet. He only had a couple more hours till dawn. He felt like Cinderella or "Cinderfella", he definitely embodied Jerry Lewis at times.

Eames did an about face and left quickly, glancing over his shoulder, trying to get a peek of him undressing. He was unbuttoning his waistcoat. Of course Arthur knew what he was doing, he felt his eyes on him, he always did, and he shot a look over his own shoulder meeting his gaze, burning flames of anger in his eyes. Eames snapped his head around, closing the door behind him for good measure.

He heard Arthur muttering about something again through the closed door. He decided it was his turn to wait in the living room. He thought of making a drink but decided against it. He went to the small desk they kept in the corner instead, the one Arthur used to pay bills or mess around on his laptop. He went through his allowed "junk" drawer for his fags. He looked through the pack trying to identify if any were missing but he really had no idea so he didn't try bothering to analyze it too much. Fag dangling from his mouth and lighter in tow he followed his feet to the patio. Cold air blasted at him immediately as he struggled with opening the sliding glass door. He was instantly shivering as the cold waves of air battered his poorly protected body.

Getting it to light was difficult but not impossible. He had been to Russia in wintertime-now that was difficult getting a fag lit.

Through trembling lips he tried to enjoy his cigarette as the nicotine hit his lungs, he imagined it darkening them, staining them, streams of billowing smoke filling up all his soft organs. He also tried to take in and enjoy the beautiful silence and serene landscape. Snow was still falling lazily, white diamonds winking down to the all ready blanketed world. Stars were out but since they were in the city it was hard to see them but he knew they were there. Kind of like Arthur, he didn't always show it but he knew he was with him. The white, powdery stuff was heavy and full and stuck to everything-it was a world of white. A "whiteout"-the news castors had called it. It was one of the worst blizzards they had in a decade but it was dying down now. Eames guessed they would only be cooped up in their flat for maybe another 24 hours until they were plowed out.

He peered over the iron railing and looked straight down. No one was walking about in the dead silence of the frozen night. He felt he was incased in time, in a snow globe, everything had stopped and stood still. He was beginning to lose the feeling in his trembling fingers, his breath catching in his throat and his nostril hairs bristling. Everything was so damn cold.

He wanted a warm bath or a heated water bottle on his head like when he was little-the nuns placing it on his forehead when he had a fever.

He tried to finish quickly because of the freezing air-watching the smoke swirl upwards to the utter blackness but he liked the stillness and tranquility all the same. It was the closest to godliness that he could imagine, overlooking the dark, silent, unmoving, frozen world, feeling incredibly alone but powerful at the same time. He felt hands around his waist then, startling him out of his daydream and he nearly lost his fag over the railing.

He felt Arthur's warmth (that was a change) on his back and he smiled. It was extremely comforting on a dark, lost and snowy evening and he felt a tug of sleepiness. He took his last drag and flicked it over the balcony ceremoniously, taking Arthur's warm hand in his freezing one, zapping out his heat and he could feel Arthur wince at his cold touch.

"Come back inside, you're going to freeze to death out here."

"And you would know because you were out here recently, I see your footprints," it was true, he had saw them earlier and they looked fresh, he definitely was smoking out here, trying to hide just like him.

Arthur squeezed against him tighter. "I was and yes I did steal one of your cigarettes," he sounded remorseful and little sheepish, a young boy caught with his father's stash of porn.

Eames again wasn't mad that he lied and stole. Eames resisted turning around quickly and catching him off guard. He didn't care about the dress he hoped he was wearing, the snow, how late it was, how tired he felt, and the ridiculous deals they made. He just wanted him close and to taste that nicotine breath again, now fading, to share a cigarette together silently like intimate lovers, to make love to him in front of the fireplace, bare and open- escaping into warmth and falling asleep next to him finally, maybe in their bed but maybe not. Arthur was tired too-maybe they could put this silliness aside; he didn't think Arthur would protest.

He would have done all this but he really wanted to see if he was wearing it. He was a glutton for punishment.

Arthur was muttering "Sorrys" into his jacket; well rather it was his jacket, burying his face into his shoulder.

Eames turned around slowly and he felt his eyes widen-he was sight. He was glad he decided not to care and continue with the deal. His heart skipped a beat; almost making him hurt as he took him in. His mouth went dry.

There was snow sticking to the glittery, long black dress-mirroring perfectly how the night sky looked. It fit Arthur like a glove, hugging his small hips, flowing out towards the bottom and touching the ground, the plunging, deep V neckline showing alabaster white, porcelain, bony skin. He liked the way it showcased his long, thin, muscular arms and long fingers. He never got to see him wear anything short sleeved or sleeveless. It was either suits, long sleeve something or other or nothing at all. He held one of his arms to his side and gave a little embarrassed smile as he felt Eames' eyes on him.

"It is a beautiful dress," he touched the bottom portion, keeping his eyes lowered.

Eames felt a new heat surging through his system and he knew he probably had a queer expression on his face, somewhere between shock, awe and completely dumbfounded but he didn't care. He didn't want to move, he wanted to stand there on the freezing cold balcony with him in that gorgeous dress, him stuffed into his suit, both looking like elegant strangers but at the same time not, him looking embarrassed and him eager. He could do it the rest of the night, he loved trying to be someone else in a chaotic moment, it was what he lived and worked for but his hands were still were tingling, almost hurting now, reminding him of his lack of heat and circulation.

Arthur met his eyes then and they shared a knowing look. Arthur knew Eames liked it, maybe too much and Eames was begging him with his eyes to just play along with it a bit more. Arthur seemed to shrug with his irises as if to say: "Might as well, we've done every other effing crazy thing."

A warm smile played on his smooth lips and he was shivering slightly now, adding to the feminine look.

Arthur took his hand, turning around, leading him back inside.

He felt the warmth of their flat hit him immediately and he almost shook from the pure joy of being out of the numbing cold. His body seemed to melt and de-thaw.

Arthur broke away from their handhold, treading carefully in the long dress, trailing snow, reaching for his wineglass on the coffee table.

Eames watched and marveled at what had become his beautiful, feminine creature of a partner. He tucked some hair that had gotten lose that was dusted with melting snowflakes behind his ear, long porcelain fingers in deep dark. He wanted to dirty this beautiful creature.

"What? You're staring," Arthur looked smug as he hid his smile behind his wineglass taking a drink; he knew he pulled it off and looked damn good. Eames would never be able to pull off a dress like that.

Eames felt he was moving through a dream, it couldn't be real though he knew it was just the tiredness and the surealness of him in something other than a suit. He patted for the totem he knew wasn't there and went up to their complicated stereo system and the Ipod that was connected to it turning his back to Arthur; he didn't want him to see. He scrolled through Arthur's massive amounts of eclectic music trying to find what he was looking for.

He sensed Arthur's confusion; Eames thought he probably expected him to pounce on him. He suppressed a grin; he could still catch him off guard after all these months.

He finally found it, one of Arthur's favorites: "Where do you go to my lovely" by Peter Sarstedt.

Though he had to admit that he liked it too, it held a certain fanciful, timeless, whimsical charm. He wasn't much for '60's music but he did like some. He remembered when Arthur first played this, IPod on shuffle through the stereo, the simple melody and the singer's strange accented voice filling up their flat as he cleaned the kitchen. Eames was seated on the couch reading the paper and when the song came on, Eames noticed from the corner of his eye that Arthur got a faraway look in his own eye, like nostalgia gripping him as he recognized the song and stopped wiping the counter at once. He just stood there for a good thirty seconds not moving. Eames abandoned his paper and watched him intently, was going to say something to him, feeling concerned but Arthur must have sensed his worry because he blinked a few times and started wiping the counter again furiously like nothing had happened. Eames loved seeing the song affect him that much, a peek into his past life. He wanted it to happen to him again.

After he let the music filter in through the dim room for a few seconds, enjoying the European waltz music in the beginning he turned around to greet his new womanly man.

Arthur was tapping to the beet with his finger on his wineglass, a faint smile playing on his lips, that nostalgic look in his eyes, shadows deepening his face.

He met Eames' eyes.

"No." The short word echoed through the room, filling it up. Apparently he knew what was coming next.

Arthur did not dance on principle, he always told him. He would rather lick freezer burned meat.

"I figured I would only be able to dance with you on our wedding-the first dance as a couple and so forth but, would you do me the honor now? Humor an old man? We are dressed for it."

At the mention of "wedding" Arthur's mouth went slack and his eyes grew three sizes as he knew they would.

Eames knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with him; he couldn't imagine any other but never knew Arthur's feelings on it but was strangely ok with it at the same time. He didn't want to push it and they only had been together for seven months. He was more worried about him growing bored than leaving him which he knew was crazy.

The singer's strangely mixed accented voice filled the room and he could almost see the gears turning in Arthur's head, absorbing his words.

Arthur blinked rapidly, placing a hand on his forehead and his mouth gaped open like a fish, he was clearly at a loss for words.

"I...ummm," he looked dangerously close to dropping his wineglass. Eames took the two strides to him and took it from his hand.

In a smooth, fluid movement, he reached behind him to place the wineglass on the table and then put his hands around his waist; Arthur still looked lost- a spacey look playing on his face.

"Don't worry about it now, just dance with me," he whispered, he placed one of Arthur's hands on his shoulder, his other around his waist. He then replaced his hands around the other man's small waist, liking the feeling of the luxurious dark fabric, so Arthur.

He nuzzled his face next to his, placing his cheek to his so they were dancing cheek to cheek as he always imagined and dreamed. Eames led them in a small, slow dance and let the words of the song fill him up as it had the room and the feel of his lover in a dress against his body flood his system.

He was in heaven or as close as he was going to get.

Arthur was stiff as a board and barely moving but he was complacent enough. They had never danced together before.

The song ended but Eames had it on repeat. Arthur must have sensed that the song was starting over again, the same familiar European waltz beginning, and it snapped him out of his apparent trance like a kick.

"Don't worry about it? Did you say wedding as in marriage?" Arthur's voice was a little too high pitched and his words were hedged with disbelief and alarm. Arthur was searching his eyes, looking fearful and demanding answers. He also looked at him with an expression of love-so many emotions packed into those two little questions, it was almost overwhelming. Eames could pick it apart for days but didn't want to, he didn't have much time left.

Eames smiled, leading the smaller man in a turn, able to lead him better since he was coherent and talking now, more responsive.

"Yes," he simply stated, brining him closer to his body. Why did he have to ruin everything with so many questions? He needed to learn to just take things as they came.

Arthur seemed stunned once more and he felt him stiffen again, Eames repressed a groan.

"I'm not proposing to you if that's what you're worried about."

Arthur stopped abruptly, mid turn, bringing Eames up short, tripping over his own feet.

"You've never said anything like that to me before. Why now? This isn't about playing out your fantasies is it? It's something more; I can tell it is now."

He was searching his eyes again. Eames shifted his weight from one foot to another, rolling around the idea in his mind if he should fess up and tell the truth.

"No, it's not. Let's play scrabble. I love that game," Eames took a couple steps to move around him to fetch the game.

Arthur took a couple steps towards him to block him. "Dan, you need to tell me. No more games. What's going on?"

Eames was shocked; a little miffed but mostly pleased. Using his first name was always a sure tell sign that Arthur was horny or trying to get his attention or both in this case. It was infrequently used but when he said it he absolutely loved it. It was always the simple things that got him when it came to Arthur. He also was miffed that Arthur was yet again trying to decipher the puzzle that was him.

Eames stuck his much too big hands in the small pockets of the tight pants, wincing at the pain of his circulation getting cut off. He looked down at the carpet, toeing it, feeling tired again, listening to the lyrics of the Peter Sarstedt song.

"All right. Third deal. If you beat me at scrabble then I'll tell you whatever else you want to know…"

"Daniel," he interrupted loudly, putting a hand up to stop him. "You told me as part of the first deal that you would tell me anyway. Just tell me now or else I'm going to bed."

Oh, his full first name now, that was good, he really meant business.

Eames stole a drink from Arthur's wineglass to buy him some time, wincing at the bitter flavor; he never could understand how Arthur could stand the taste. Arthur was glaring at him, arms crossed.

Eames felt the sleep train pulling in. He was getting to the point where he was getting exhausted; standing was taking all his energy. He deposited himself on the couch, limbs feeling much too heavy. Arthur moved so he was right in front of him.

"You're bored of me right?"

He let that settle in Arthur's mind and Eames rested his eyes listening to the song, feeling he was inside a dream hearing the familiar Édith Piaf: "Non, je ne regrette rien" song. Maybe their Peter Sarstedt song was the signal to go to sleep instead of waking up. He could get used to that.

He felt Arthur sit next to him and felt his smooth hand in his a second later, his was cold once again, and he blamed the dress as it was sleeveless. He almost laughed at the absurd thought. Arthur being even colder because he was in a dress? How did that become a real statement?

He didn't want to open his eyes, to do so would be to admit defeat-admitting what the night had been for the entire time-killing his fun. He liked it better when Arthur was just thinking it was about his fantasies which partially it was.

Arthur squeezed his hand. "Why would you think I'm bored of you?"

Eames had to open his eyes regrettably at that though.

He lolled his head over to Arthur's side of the couch, him still in the stunning dress, he looked concerned and sad.

"Irrational fear, really."

Arthur scooted closer to him, searching his eyes deeply again.

He reached out and brushed his hair to the side, a faint smile on his lips.

"You're anything but boring."

"I know I'm not but you're getting bored of me, tired of me," it came out a little too harsh and he saw Arthur wince.

Arthur looked down at his lap and exhaled deeply.

"I should have been straight up honest with you about a couple things. I have something I need to tell you."

Eames didn't like his tone one bit.


	6. 5 am

**A/N-I probably won't warn you guys again, fearing I'm beating a dead horse BUT: the chapters are going to be long from here on in, just too much to try to get in before its not night anymore. Consider yourself warned :)**

**Also: I do not own the song used in this fic.**

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5am- Eames knows he has one hour to pull this shit off

"We need to talk."

Between his serious tone and using his first name Eames knew that Arthur meant business.

Eames was snapped out of his sleepiness, feeling rattled by his words and he focused his attention on his partner.

Arthur released their handhold and Eames felt immediately cut off and more concerned. He wanted his closeness.

"Shoot," Eames clasped his hands together.

Arthur took a deep breath.

"I've been trying to figure out all night long what you've been up to and I've been trying to get you turned on so you would tell me since you wouldn't tell me the truth otherwise, I know you too well," he had his hands intertwined, knotted in his lap, studying them.

"I've been teasing you. I'm sorry," Arthur looked up at him suddenly.

"I've been doing the same, trying to turn you on so, well, you know," his words came out in a fumble; he didn't want to meet his eyes.

"I know."

They sat in silence, both listening to the words of the song, realizing it hit close to home.

_But where do you go to my lovely... _

_When you're alone in your bed._

_Tell me the thoughts that surround you. _

_I want to look inside your head._

They both needed to get better at discussing things, especially about things that bothered them.

Eames didn't want to discuss it anymore however. It could wait for another day. He looked over at the other man who looked contemplative.

"Let's go to bed."

Arthur met his eyes, looking surprised.

"No."

Eames was beginning to think it was the other man's favorite word. Arthur got up and shot out a hand to a baffled Eames. "Dance with me again. You don't want to lose the deal do you?" He was smiling.

"Arthur..."

"Don't worry about it now, just dance with me," a laugh in his voice.

Eames shook his head a little and suppressed a laugh. Their relationship was the very definition of nonconventional, bordering on the brink on insanity as of late but he could never deny him. They fought heatedly and often, they got on each other's nerves constantly, they couldn't agree on most things, they nearly never talked about "them"-throwing caution to the wind and then there was Arthur's even colder behavior towards him as of late.

But the sex, oh God the sex. Eames always lost his mind, the way he felt, the way Arthur looked at him, like he was looking through him, they way he straightened his hair, tucking it absentmindedly behind his ear when he thought no one was looking, his goofy, lopsided grin reserved especially for when Eames told him some stupid story or joke, the way his eyebrows furrowed when he was reading or concentrating, his deft hands that could do a million things better than Eames but would never admit to, his sharp intellect and whit, the way he carried himself, head held high in the dreams and otherwise, did he mention the fantastic, mind blowing, knee buckling sex?

He took Arthur's hand; he led them around the coffee table back to the "dance floor".

Eames wanted to see if Arthur would take the lead. To his surprise Arthur positioned his hands correctly and led them in a slow twirl.

He wasn't half bad. Eames again felt baffled.

"Where did you learn to dance?"

"Ariadne has been giving me lessons..."

There was more to the explanation Eames felt. He let Arthur take his time; the point man rested his head on his shoulder, leading them around the room.

_You're in between twenty and thirty, _

_A very desirable age._

_You're body is firm and inviting, _

_But you live on a glittering stage._

"I've been preparing...I wanted to surprise you."

Eames felt a surge of love and affection for him swell up, he rode it. He had practiced dancing for him? But he hated dancing.

"For what?" Eames' voice was a hesitant whisper, not wanting to ruin the tender moment.

_They say that when you get married, _

_It will be to a millionaire._

_But they don't realize where you came from _

_And I wonder if they really care, or give a damn_

"For our wedding, Dan. I want to marry you someday too. I can't rightfully not know how to dance for our first dance as a couple."

_So look into my face Marie-Claire _

_And remember just who you are._

_Then go and forget me forever_

_But I know you still bear the scar deep inside, yes, you do._

Maybe he didn't hear him right. Eames wanted to believe it was another trick, another tease but the way he said it, it definitely was not. He felt so many things he didn't know how to feel. His words had successfully done the impossible-stunned him into silence.

He stopped their dance and Arthur looked up at him.

"You look surprised."

"That's because I am."

"Why? Do you think you're the only one capable of thinking those kind of thoughts?"

Eames ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head slightly, blinking rapidly, heart beating fast. He again was reminded of their lack of serious discussion about them.

"Maybe I did."

Arthur grabbed him by the collar and crushed his lips to his own, wet, hot and searching. He still felt marvelous, maybe a little too marvelous and he still tasted faintly of nicotine and also his wine.

They clung to each other desperately, Eames letting Arthur explore his mouth.

The song ended and started again, a constant loop-something out of a dream. The two lovers were caught in a sweet embrace, exploring mouths, not even hearing the song anymore however, letting everything dissolve away.

Surprisingly Eames was the first to break away, gasping for breath, lungs working hard. Arthur shot him a smoldering look.

"Just know that I'm saying this in the nicest way possible: I love how ignorant you are of my thoughts and feelings and that means I get to show you instead of tell you," he smirked and reached around Eames for his wineglass. Arthur downed the rest, definitely not ladylike Eames observed.

"Show me," Eames felt invigorated, taking a step closer to him, getting his second wind.

Arthur released a gentle laugh, looking at his wineglass, his adorable dimple showing on his young face.

He looked up at him. "Let me get us drinks and I will."

He stopped the song on the way to the kitchen, Eames was a little relieved, he liked it but was getting tired of it at the same time.

Eames joined him in the kitchen, pushing him aside, telling him he was shit at bartending and didn't trust him making him a drink. They laughed, sharing another kiss. They were sweet on each other now-after airing out the dirty laundry, reveling feelings and true intentions in their masculine, roundabout ways without really delving too deep. Eames believed Arthur could enjoy himself more now. He knew he was going to, it was like the curtain was lifted.

Eames really did not want to drink anymore; he was going to let Arthur win the second deal. He all ready got to do a lot to him this evening and felt better about their relationship, feeling closer to him, his fears of him growing bored subsided for the time being. He poured himself a shot size in his glass, hoping Arthur wouldn't notice but knowing him he would.

Arthur was rosy cheeked and smiling, a genuine smile as he poured himself a decent size glass.

"Let's play scrabble. You want to get it out?" He was busy corking his bottle.

Eames felt something stir inside him at Arthur's request. It was so simple but not at the same time. He knew. Without them ever uttering those precious three words he knew deep down that they both felt it. This again should have bothered Eames but it did not. They would say it when the time was right and the way Arthur looked at him sometimes-it spoke volumes, sometimes going infinitely deeper than: "I Love You."

He watched him put the bottle away. He came up behind him while he was distracted, pushing him up against the counter, planting a kiss on his cheek, nuzzling it. Arthur cupped his stubbly face sweetly and kissed him, he tasted like his wine. He could feel that Arthur was very warm. Eames wrapped his muscular, yellowing, nicotine stained fingers around his delicate, exposed throat and deepened the kiss and for a change Arthur didn't resist but reciprocated. Thankfully Arthur had placed his glass on the counter behind them; Eames was brushing his bony collarbone lightly, dusting his fingertips on his pale skin. Arthur reacting by slowly sliding a hand down Eames' spine. Eames felt something uncurl and release at his intimate touch and became hard, much too hard. They had been dancing around this all night long, both men teasing, leading the other on; he didn't know how much longer he could hold out.

Eames kissed his jaw breathing in the slightly musty scent of the dress that had been in the garment bag for too long. It smelled of old antiquity, a dying time. That was Arthur in a nutshell, a rare, dying bread.

He moved to his neck, Arthur reacting with a sharp intake of breath. Eames nipped him there, grazing him with his teeth and Arthur cried out a little in alarm and pleasure, making Eames' cock throb. Arthur pulled at his jacket as if to steady himself, looking flushed. "You still up for the third deal?" he breathed shakily, trembling slightly as Eames brushed his earlobe with his lips.

Eames met his eyes begrudgingly and blinked several times thinking he didn't hear him correctly.

"Arthur, I wasn't being serious," a lie. Of course he was serious but this again was to make Arthur think it was his idea, that he was in control. Game on.

"Well I am."

Step five in getting Arthur incredibly pent up and begging for it: play scrabble. Why? Eames had no fucking clue either. Apparently arranging little tile squares into words was really sexy. Arthur was all about puzzles, Sudoku, riddles and anything else that made you use the left portion of your brain. That's probably why he was a superb point man and loved the Penrose steps so much. He probably added up all the steps and divided by four and it was the answers to all the intimate questions of the universe but knowing Arthur he would just laugh, keep it to himself and tuck the answers away in even more riddles and complicated math equations for the next lucky fuck to try to figure out.

So all necessary steps to get him horny were in play-the drinks, the suit, the dress (for the 40's vintage feel), the idea he was in control and now scrabble.

Oh Lord, wasn't he just the most complicated, freakish, adorable creature?

Arthur came to his ear, whispering. "Go get the game," he slapped Eames' arse for good measure just to bring home how serious he was. Eames had to suppress the urge to tackle him to the ground and a huge grin that was threatening to appear when he saw the familiar look in Arthur's, half lidded eyes. He was horny.

Hook, line, sinker.

He fetched the game from the closet, not wanting to waste anymore of their precious time.

He brought out the game, sitting down on the living room carpet, Indian style, liking the warmth on his skin from the fireplace.

He watched as Arthur approached; long dress swishing on the carpet. He insanely wished Arthur had pants on so he could see how hard he was for him. He wanted to yank down the dress and wrap his tongue and mouth around his cock and suck, suck until he was bone dry and screaming. His own bulge was pretty evident in the too tight pants but he was way beyond caring, knowing Arthur was probably used to it. It didn't take much.

Arthur sat; knees swept to the side in true ladylike form and fashion, wineglass in one hand and he adjusted the dress with the other so it covered his long, slender legs more.

Eames tried not to get distracted as he set up the game.

He did brush Arthur's fingers on purpose as they both were picking their tile letter pieces out of the bag, he couldn't resist trying to get him to react. He smiled warmly at his touch.

Arthur was concentrating on arranging his tiles on the little holder, presumably to make out some clever and elaborate words.

Eames wasn't really much for this game but liked to make as many crude words as possible to piss Arthur off since he took it so seriously. But they had another deal, the third deal that Eames didn't want to particularly lose so he thought it would be better to give it the old college try.

Even though Eames drew out an "M" as his first letter and Arthur drew out an "R" he didn't want to go first. With a: "Ladies first" he let Arthur take the first turn. Arthur shook his head a little but grinned at the stupid joke.

Arthur arranged the word: "retreat" on the board. Of course he would have the letters for a word like that. He seemed very pleased as he reached into the bag to draw out more letters. He was always really effing good at this game.

Eames didn't have much to go on, he didn't have many vowels. He did have one clear word though but knowing Arthur he would argue that since it was abbreviated it didn't count.

He built upon his "retreat" by spelling out: "meth" to the snigger of Arthur. "And you say I have no imagination!"

"Well, at least it makes sense, there are meth retreats you know, maybe on some cruise ship somewhere?" he really had no idea what he was talking about and chuckled a little as he dug his hand into the bag for more tiles. Arthur was snorting with laughter, focused on his holder again. He loved this-them doing something completely stupid and making joking together.

Even though Eames complained loudly he thought the game was rigged he had fun and he knew Arthur did too. It had been awhile since the two of them had played any sort of card or board game. Eames was always better at cards.

Arthur beat him horribly. Eames was going to clean up, preparing himself for the barrage of questions he knew he was going to get when he saw Arthur approach him, crawling on hands and knees, pushing the box and tile holders out of way.

This was anything but what Eames expected. His face drew up in surprise and he was opening his mouth to question him when his mouth was suddenly very busy, covered by his lover's.

Arthur was still on his knees, hands on the floor but his mouth was so hungry, sweeping his tongue over his teeth and lips, massaging his tongue with his own. Eames released a pent up moan, leaning into him, going on his knees as well, deepening their contact, one hand on his soft cheek the other on his back. Arthur pulled at him quickly as Eames leaned forward and Eames lost his balance, both men toppling over. He landed on top of Arthur, letter tiles scattering and flying everywhere. If either man felt any discomfort they didn't show it, they grinned, Arthur laughing a little. God, he missed that sound.

Eames brushed a letter "W" off of Arthur's cheek, chuckling, positioning himself so that Arthur could feel the length of him. In their closeness he finally felt how hard Arthur really was, his cock beneath the expensive fabric of the dress digging into his pelvis and Eames nearly lost his control. His breath was ragged and he liked how flushed and pink Arthur looked-like a baby. He shot him a look of wanting that nearly threw him over the edge again.

Arthur came in for a kiss but Eames evaded it and took his face in his hands and nipped his lower lip, the little bites turning into sucking, his tongue sweeping and teasing. He wasn't going to make this easy for the other man. If he wanted it he would have to do more than throw some looks his way.

Arthur squirmed under him, his breathing hard, and his fingernails digging half moons into his back.

It still wasn't enough for Eames, for either of them.

Arthur struggled against him and crushed their lips together into a needy kiss-wet and desperate, arching his hips and curling one leg around his for deeper contact. That was more like it.

Arthur pulled at Eames' shirt, untucking it as Eames pulled away from his lips going for his jaw, swirling his wet tongue around and getting a startled moan from Arthur.

Eames sucked underneath his chin, moving to the softer parts by his throat as Arthur slid a hand up his shirt, feeling his stomach.

He was going to have to regrettably pull at the reins. Arthur definitely was not turned on enough.

He was getting lost though as Arthur explored his abdomen and pecs with one smooth hand, the other hand had somehow managed to reach down his tight pants, dangerously close to his cock.

Thankfully something happened then to help him bring him back down to reality like a kick. Eames' stomach growled loudly. Arthur pretended he didn't hear it and continued to explore but Eames stopped. It was as good as chance as any. Arthur seemed confused.

Eames rolled off of him and came up to a sitting position; he was still breathing hard , sweat glistening off his brow. He couldn't wait to get the tight suit off, he felt he was suffocating. Arthur watched him with wide eyes as he lay on the floor, panting, chest moving rapidly through the lush fabric of the dress.

"You hungry? I'm going to make some dinner. I'm in the mood for fish."

Arthur threw him an incredulous look.

"I just had my hand down your pants and now you want to eat?"

Eames wiped sweat from his brow, smiling.

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

Arthur moved so he was elevated a little, resting on his elbows, staring at him hard.

"You've never chosen food over sex. And it can't rightfully be dinner now. Fish, really?"

Eames rested his face in a hand and stared right back at him.

"There's a first time for everything I suppose," he let that sink in and started to get up.

Arthur reached over and shot a hand out, gripping his leg.

"Don't you dare move," he growled lowly.


	7. 6 am

**A/N: So yeah...this chapter... I really don't know what to say. It totally got away from me and got out of control!**

**It's very graphic (and of course long)-you have been warned! **

**Feedback is greatly appreciated/needed as I have no idea if it's too much, not enough, bad, good, etc.**

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6am- Did the deals even matter anymore? Both men didn't think they really did.

He had never heard such a primal and carnal demand uttered from Arthur's lips before. Even in their deepest and wildest throes of passion he never forcefully told him to or not to do something. It was usually the other way around. It was interesting for sure and his body couldn't decide if he was scared, turned on or just plain shocked.

It definitely made him pause.

Arthur took that opportunity to scoot over to Eames on his knees, a hard, commanding look on his face.

Again, he had never seen this side of him before. It made him a little weak in the knees but also intrigued him, thrilled him.

Arthur came right up to him, placing his warm hands on his thighs, sliding upwards.

"You said to keep an open mind and you have to admit I have but," a raw look of desire crossed his face and any feelings of being scared vanished from Eames' system. "I don't care if you're hungry. Do not make dinner."

Oh shit, he liked that, Arthur being a little nasty and telling him what to do, him wanting him and his attention but not really saying it.

He was feeling giddy. He had to play this out carefully.

He arranged his face to look calm, uncaring. "Oh, why is that?"

Arthur's hands moved up and down his thighs slowly. Eames wanted to grab him and wrestle him to the floor on the damnable scrabble pieces again, overtaking him. He couldn't yet. Arthur just wasn't quite where he needed him to be. He had to say it; he needed to hear him say it, to prove to himself that he indeed was not bored of him.

Arthur leaned in closer to his face, his alcohol breath batting his skin.

Arthur brushed his nose affectionately to his and Eames knew he was dodging the question. He would always do things like that to get out of something.

"Do you really not want to? That's so not you," he breathed into his skin, sliding his hands over his thighs aggravatingly slowly, giving him a little tease of a kiss.

Oh god, he was back to the playful teasing Arthur. Eames felt his resolve start to crumble but he knew he had to be strong.

"I told you what I want. I want food."

Eames was praying to every God and deity that Arthur didn't give up, he was banking on how pent up and intoxicated he was but he wasn't one hundred percent sure he wouldn't turn mad or...

Arthur inched closer to his face still, coming to his ear.

"And I told you before I don't care," he nipped his earlobe and Eames was probably the happiest he ever was, the top five moments at least. The first was kissing Arthur for the first time, second was the second time they had sex as the first was a little bit of a cock up for both of them, both of them too eager and fumbling and it was over way too quick, more like fucking then love making, both of them a little ashamed and embarrassed the next morning. The second time though, as if they told each other they were going to make it up to the other, they took their sweet time to really explore and pleasure and he made Arthur grip the sheets and cry out in a way he had never heard again, something that could not be replicated. He shuddered in pleasure thinking about it now, his face twisted up in half pain and half hot searing desire as he clung to Eames, body racked in sweat, bodies moving rhythmically, he thought about that moment a lot after that, how Arthur came for him, eyes closed, crying out. He jerked off a lot to that image of him, his Arthur.

This would be another image to jerk off to-Arthur in the stunning dress amidst scrabble pieces everywhere, disheveled, pressed up against him, wanting him but not saying it, teasing him, commanding him, tempting him.

Eames gulped hugely feeling sweat beads down his back and at the back of his neck. He wasn't sure if it was from being so close to the fireplace in the constrictive suit or the way Arthur was teasing him, touching him, sending him sexy looks.

His hands had stopped roaming his thighs which were tingling now from his touch, he rested them on his hips as he drew his body even impossibly closer, jabbing his hot tongue at his earlobe, a complete weak spot for Eames.

Eames again imagined compacting his desires into a tight ball, hiding it away into the corners of his mind. He needed to be strong.

He swallowed hard again. "You would deny a man his basic needs for sustenance?"

Arthur released a sultry laugh, his warm breath pushing into his ear, making him break out in goose pimples.

"And you would deny my basic needs for sex?" he whispered sucking on his earlobe.

That's something that Eames would normally say.

Oh shit.

"Is that what this is about then?" his voice sounded strained, too rough and a little too high pitched.

Arthur laughed again, moving his hands inward, resting on his belt. Eames was impossibly hard again and he closed his eyes, hoping it would help him remain in control and let Arthur do what he will without him interfering.

"You're a silly boy and again totally ignorant of my feelings and affections. I'm definitely going to have to show you now."

Say it, say it, say it…

It was like a mantra in Eames' mind.

"I really don't know what you want, you're right," he lied. Arthur needed to be in control but oh God his whole body was vibrating now, humming with anticipation and lust. Arthur was fiddling with his belt, too close to his crotch, breath ragged, and his lips still too close to his ear.

He felt him smile against his ear. "I want you to fuck me, right here, right now. The way I like it," a total command with no room for question.

"Yes, ma'am."

That's all he needed to hear to be able to move into action. It felt like he was waiting an eternity for Arthur to finally say it. It was like pulling teeth to get him to confess what he really wanted sometimes but when he did it was like fireworks. Eames was very good at reading and anticipating people as a good forger would but Arthur was always so secretive and mysterious, lost in his own head a lot and so furiously cold at times.

But this…Eames could get used to this.

Arthur had managed to unbuckle his belt. Eames opened his eyes wrapping his strong arms around a very flushed Arthur, catching him off guard, crushing his lips to his.

Arthur released a moan as Eames opened his mouth wider, their tongues gliding off each other easily as if they were two puzzle pieces that magically fit perfectly together. They were far from perfect but fuck, as far as bedroom politics went they were always hot and heavy, the best he's ever had.

He was exploring the intimate crevices of Arthur's mouth, feeling his fillings, the tips of his teeth, his tongue sweeping the roof of his mouth, the soft inside of his cheek, he was distracted now, too caught up.

Somehow Arthur managed to wrestle him to the scrabble ridden floor again. It was his turn to feel the pieces poke uncomfortably into the flesh of his back, the back of his head, his arse and his legs. Arthur hovered over him, dress askew, lips looking puffy from being overused and abused; hair a mess, half lidded, hungry eyes and the pain vanished. He would gladly lie on a bed of nails to see him like this.

He straddled him which proved a little difficult in the dress. The way he struggled with it actually turned Eames on more, the way he was dutifully trying to be sexy.

Once he positioned himself, bracing himself on lean arms on either side of Eames' head, Eames wasted no time and reached behind and squeezed his tight little ass through the fabric of the dress but became surprised when he realized…

Arthur smirked sexily.

He worked a hand slowly up his chest, resting on his collarbone, leaning into his ear again.

"Surprise."

Arthur was not wearing any underwear.

Hot fucking damn.

"I didn't think you'd mind. That and I didn't have any panties, fresh out I'm afraid."

Eames' words coming out of Arthur's mouth. He definitely had rubbed off on him in the seven months they had been living together. He was such a horrible influence.

Eames dug his fingers in deeper, separating his buttocks, liking the reaction he was getting from his partner. His eyes fluttered and his breath shuddered.

"You shouldn't have told me that. Too easy of access," he slid a finger down his crack slowly as if to prove the point, loving how hot he felt and the way his arse clung and stuck to the fabric from sweat or maybe other things. Arthur shuddered harder, gripping his shoulder with one hand, the other arm trembling from his weight, incoherent words and sounds tumbling from his mouth.

"All the more reason why I told you. Easier to fuck me in this impossible thing," he breathed into his shoulder, hard for him to get the words out.

God he loved it when he talked dirty. He couldn't remember the last time he had done that. Frankfurt maybe after he got him ridiculously drunk at that beer garden?

Eames cupped his arse in his arm tightly, liking the way he arched his back and stiffened. He traced a finger up his spine slowly to the nape of his neck with his other hand. "You didn't wear underwear so I could fuck you easier? That's probably the hottest thing you've ever said to me. Please continue."

Arthur laughed lightly through hot, shuddering breaths, his head nearly on his shoulder as if he needed support, his slight, flexible body doing strange and miraculous things to Eames. He noticed the strain the other man was enduring by supporting himself on one arm. He forced Arthur to lie on top of him completely and he felt him relax, his arm still quivering slightly. He kneaded his arm and he felt Arthur relax further and smile.

He shifted on top of him and in the close contact he could feel how ridiculously hard Arthur was for him. Knowing nothing was underneath the dress just made his own cock throb. He gripped one of his ass cheeks, brining him closer and Arthur whimpered a little.

"I forgot how much I missed you fondling my ass actually. I remember you tried to do it at the museum opening you took me to when we were in the bathroom but we were in public. But god damn I wanted you to keep going."

He remembered all too well and he thought Arthur had long forgotten. He really didn't think he liked his arse being groped.

Eames was becoming undone, unraveled.

He tried to move his arm away to explore other parts of him, to start to undress him when he felt Arthur's hand on his.

"Don't," he was pleading. "Touch me more."

Fuck. This was going infinitely better than what he had hoped.

"Arthur," he moaned. He couldn't take much more; his cock was throbbing badly now and he wanted to rid him of the dress completely.

Arthur was nuzzling his neck, sucking at the soft, tender flesh where neck and shoulder met.

He let his fingers roam over his arse getting another whimper from Arthur as he grazed his neck with his teeth. He decided to take it a bit further and pinched him. He made a noise of pain but he felt him shudder with pleasure.

"Just like that," he breathed. "I want you fucking hard and pent up for me."

Sweet Jesus.

"I don't think I can be any harder for you, luv," he arched his hips so he could feel how hard he was for him.

Arthur moaned in approval.

He stopped what he was doing which brought Eames up short. Arthur was breathing hard, licked his lips and took his face in fully for the first time in what felt like ages.

He chanced moving one hand to the back of the dress, trying to decipher how it all worked, how he was supposed to undress him. It seemed harder than inception. He hadn't undressed a woman since college-so long ago.

Arthur tugged at his jacket, smiling. "How the hell am I supposed to get you out of this tight thing? We didn't think this far ahead did we?"

They laughed together. "You took the words right out of my mouth. God, I love you."

Did he just?

He surely just said that in his head right?

Arthur's smile evaporated off his sweet face. Eames blushed furiously, breaking out in new sweat.

No, he defiantly cocked up and said it out loud. In the heat of the moment it just tumbled from his insane mouth. He loved that Arthur was feeling the same as him in that moment, that they were on the same wave length as they often were despite their disagreements.

He hoped to God that Arthur would just ignore it, move past it but he knew he wouldn't.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak but Eames cut him off, back peddling.

"It doesn't count; we're fooling around and…"

Arthur punched him hard in the shoulder, smiling a toothy grin.

"I wanted to say it to you first you fuck head. You're always beating me to the punch with that sort of thing."

Oh. Well he was beating him now with a punch which was in some way ironic. He was going to bring it up but thought against it.

"But you didn't mean it?" He switched gears and touched Eames' face affectionately, searching his eyes deeply, looking a little apprehensive and needy. He loved how sensitive he could be at times; it was a side of him no one else got to see besides him, like a secret trait of his. He felt special to see it.

Eames wasn't sure what to say. Were they really going to have this discussion right here and right now? Seven months in the making?

It didn't seem appropriate. But hell, nothing they did this evening and now morning was really appropriate.

When in Rome.

His heart beat quickened and he returned the smile which he found was easy to do despite how nervous he was feeling.

"Arthur, I love you very deeply you must know that," he tucked some of his lose hair behind his ear, rubbing his thumb over the outline of his small ear getting a smile from him.

"Go on," he was trying to keep a straight, solemn face but he knew him too well, it wasn't working, he looked a little red in the face, bashful at the sentiment.

He felt his heart fill up with a huge feeling for him. Arthur wanted this. He wanted it too now he knew.

He moved his hand to his face, caressing him.

"It's always been you. No one else. Now stop making me bleed my bloody heart out for you, you bastard," he laughed.

He moved to kiss him, to end the spewing out of feelings portion of the evening (now morning) but Arthur put out his hand to stop him, dancing his fingers on his plump lips.

"Don't I get a turn?"

As if to answer him Eames took one of his fingers in his mouth, Arthur surprisingly allowing it. He slowly sucked, gliding his tongue underneath his slender finger imagining it was his wet and juicy cock.

Arthur's eyes fluttered closed and he breathed out some extremities. He fucked his mouth with his finger for a minute, both men moaning and bodies moving against each other. Eames grazed it with his teeth and bit a little. Arthur turned a deeper shade of red and cried out.

He regrettable removed his now very wet finger visibly trying to regain his composure. Eames let him.

"You have to stop doing that and by that I mean in a bit. Just let me say this."

Eames kneaded Arthur's arm again and nodded. He could wait. He was all ready compiling a hefty list of things he was going to do to him in a minute.

"Dan…" he was struggling with his words which was odd for him.

He ran a hand through his tussled locks and exhaled shakily.

"Shit, I'm really no good at this. I said I wanted to say it first but really I have no idea what I'm doing. You're much better at expressing yourself than me."

It was a lot for Arthur to admit something like that. Eames shook his head and smiled sweetly, he ran a thumb over his cheek. Arthur met his hand and squeezed it.

"You don't have to. I mean it doesn't count, remember?"

Arthur laughed a little. "It does so you jackass," he kissed his hand.

"And I love that you said it I just have no idea what to say in return," he seemed to blush again. Eames had to admit that he was a little crestfallen that his partner couldn't return the sentiment but he understood at the same time.

He sighed and took his young, flushed face in both his hands, cupping it.

"You don't have to say anything, darling, this is enough for me. You're enough for me."

He was fooling himself if he thought it didn't bother him. He had been fooling himself for the past seven months to think it didn't matter. He would just have to wait. He had waited this long. Arthur was worth it.

Arthur smiled and…

Did he think he saw possible moisture at the other man's eyes? No, it must have been the firelight or a trick on his tired eyes.

"You aren't crying are you luv?"

Arthur blinked rapidly and shook his head. "No, don't be silly. I'm just tired."

"I can fix that," he grabbed at him and kissed him fiercely, feeling Arthur relax and sigh into him. He definitely felt some wetness at his eyes in their closeness but decided to politely not comment. He was probably feeling poorly at not expressing himself, telling him how he felt.

They were up in a sitting position, gasping before he knew it.

Arthur was scrambling to get up and he helped Eames to his feet, helping him brush off the many scrabble pieces that were still stuck to him. Arthur lingered on his backside, apparently for payback. Eames watched him carefully as he moved his hands over it like he was brushing it off, eventually just lingering there, grasping at it.

"Fuck," he breathed into Arthur's mouth.

Arthur moved to kiss the sides of mouth teasingly, pulling at his hair, making him go crazy.

He parted their kiss with a breath and gingerly removed his tight jacket. Eames felt immediately freer. To his surprise Arthur just threw it to the floor instead of properly folding it like he normally took the time to do during love making.

Eames grinned and tried to move to the back of Arthur's dress but Arthur stopped him, shoving at his fingers.

He pressed their foreheads together, panting and started on Eames' shirt, going way too agonizingly slowly as he unbuttoned the buttons. "Fuck, Arthur," he released shakily as his smooth hands found his exposed abdomen, trailing a finger down to his navel and to the little hair there. He left his dress shirt open and Arthur drank him in, eyes roaming all over him and gave him a slight nod as if in approval.

"God, you look fucking hot. I love your chest; I can just see your tattoos." His open shirt did cover them slightly but Arthur traced them with his fingers ever so lightly as if to remind himself. The large masks over his right pectoral, the words just below his collarbone and finally the one just above his hip, close to his navel.

Eames shuddered.

His fingers roamed over his ribs moving slowly to his abs and Eames gripped at the other man's arms feeling like he again was coming undone.

He removed his all ready unbuckled belt and glided his deft fingers to his crotch going slowly inward. He inhaled sharply when he felt him on his cock, tugging a little. He leaned into his forehead, gripping his arms tighter.

"Arthur…"

He closed the distance and smothered his mouth with his, kissing him quickly as he undid his top button and moved to unzip him. He felt he could breathe easier and felt some pain subside as the pants were undone finally and Eames helped him remove the impossibly tight things, him wincing as he felt blood rush through again, no longer being constricted. Arthur noticed him rubbing at his thighs and Arthur helped him, fussing over the deep red marks of where the pants were digging into him.

"Poor thing," he breathed running his fingers over the deep lines, bending over and kissing him sloppily along the waist and hip bone.

Eames ran his hand through the other man's hair as he kissed the length of the marks and lingered on his tattoo sweeping his tongue over it.

Eames released something totally insensible, not even formulating words as he felt Arthur's long tongue going lower to the tip of his boxers, he pulled at his hair getting a smirk from the other man.

He went lower still, getting on his knees, clasping his hips for support as he pulled at his boxers with his teeth and only using his fingers to get up and over his erection. Eames kicked his boxers off but could only moan and dig half moons into Arthur's shoulders, holding on to him for dear life.

Arthur kissed his navel, pushing his nose into the little hair there, inhaling him.

"Arthur," he moaned.

"Don't worry I still want you to fuck me the way I like it. I haven't forgotten," he breathed into his abdomen, feeling the vibrations of his words on his skin, making him shiver.

"I just want a taste."

Before Eames could really comprehend what Arthur meant he nudged his cock with his nose as if in a tease.

He closed his eyes as he felt his hot tongue deliciously lick him slowly from balls to tip. He shuddered out some curses and other things mostly about how fucking great it felt and how much he wanted him.

"I know," he breathed into his cock, his hot breath expelling out on it making it quiver.

He took him in his mouth and he knew he was going to come fast if he wasn't careful, warning him as such. He was lost to the sounds of Arthur making noises as he sucked and how his body was riding the pleasure. Arthur only sucked and licked for a little while, apparently getting it out of his system and was up off the floor too quickly, wiping at his mouth. Eames felt lightheaded, a little dizzy and totally off balance, his body screaming for more attention.

"Up against the wall, back to me," Eames managed to growl out once he had regained enough composure though he felt weak in the knees.

Arthur looked far too smug and pleased with himself. He deserved payback. He complied and went to the wall.

Eames removed his socks and moved to remove his shirt when Arthur came to him, stopping him, eyes wide.

"Don't, it looks so hot like that with just your shirt on, open like that," he smiled weakly and was pleading with him with his eyes.

Eames arched an eyebrow. Apparently he didn't know all of Arthur's kinks.

"Oh yeah?" He took a step back from him, ran a hand through his hair, smirking, letting him take in his almost naked body and erect cock. "You like that huh?"

Arthur nodded, blushing.

Eames grabbed at his arms, pushing him back into the wall maybe a little too hard, still smirking.

"What else do you like?" He kissed his throat.

"I…"

Eames ran his tongue over his neck, leaving behind a saliva trail, liking the way Arthur couldn't formulate speech.

Arthur shuddered and swallowed hard.

"I like your tongue."

"Pppfftt, I really knew that. Next!" he slid down a sleeve of the dress and kissed a trail down his shoulder, making sure to use his tongue liberally.

"Fuck," Arthur moaned out, squirming against him.

"Better think of something, darling," he breathed into his pale skin, moving to the other shoulder of the dress.

He slid that sleeve down too and ran his fingers over his throat and bony collarbone, tugging at the dress to go further down but it not cooperating. He furrowed his eyebrows.

"I would if you weren't distracting me."

He thought of a way so he wouldn't be "distracted". Eames turned him around so his face was pressed up against the wall and his back was facing him. He needed to get him out of the dress however hot it was.

There was a hook and eye set and he fumbled with it not knowing how Arthur managed to get this on by himself.

Arthur, his cheek pressed up against the wall, tried looking at him.

"I like your fingers deep in me, exploring my ass," he breathed out, lungs working hard.

Eames came close to his ear. "I gathered that too. Next!" He licked inside his ear making Arthur cry out.

He managed to undo the clasp and set to the zipper. Arthur was squirming and making these noises that left Eames breathless and his cock throbbed harder.

He finally released him of the dress. He tugged at the sleeves, pulling them down off his shoulders slowly until the dress finally just dropped to the floor and Eames had free range to his marvelous, muscular back, shoulders and tight arse. He was definitely more in love with Arthur's backside. Arthur was the opposite and loved his front side.

His clasped his arse immediately as Arthur squirmed against the wall, putting one hand on it to brace himself, his breath hitching in his throat.

"I like when you wear an apron and nothing else when you're making me things in the kitchen."

Eames stopped abruptly. That was definitely new and definitely hot. He filed that away for later.

He squeezed his ass cheeks together liking how Arthur arched his back into him, brushing his erection with his ass. He totally lost his mind to his touch.

Now they both were breathless and uttering incoherent things as Arthur grinded his ass against his pelvis and it took every ounce of control from Eames not to enter him then and fuck him against the wall. That wasn't the way Arthur liked it.

He didn't want him to stop as his smooth ass slid against him rhythmically. He definitely could get off that way but didn't want to. He slapped Arthur's ass hard getting a whimper from him and shoved him deeper against the wall.

He clasped his narrow hips, bringing him tight against him, letting him feel how wet he was and licked the back of his neck.

"Eames…"

They were both hanging by a thread, they both knew it.

Arthur reached behind, somehow managing to squirm his small hand in between and stroked the length of him it turning into pulling a few seconds later.

Not to be outdone he reached around and grasped the younger man's gorgeous cock, Arthur coming off the wall slightly so that Eames could get a better angle. He buried his face into his shoulder as they both worked each other with their hands.

"Eames, please," he breathed in between long strokes and tugs, like he couldn't take it anymore.

Eames couldn't either. He kissed his shoulder and turned him around. He took in his pale, milky white, slim, muscular figure, devoid of much body hair and so smooth, a total blank canvas, very unlike himself but he loved it that way. He could stare at his naked body all day.

He slid his hands up around his narrow torso by his rib cage and stroked his sides with his calloused thumbs. He always rubbed poker chips together if he was out and bored, a bad habit he developed which made his fingers rough. Arthur never seemed to mind though.

Arthur took a step closer to him, wrapping his arms around his waist, stroking his back under the still open shirt. Eames closed the distance so they were pelvis to pelvis, erections dancing against each other and caught his mouth, devouring him.

Someone gave instructions to move to the couch, he wasn't sure who anymore, there were a lot of commands and other things coming out of their mouths, it was hard to keep track.

They fondled on the couch for a while and Eames knew regrettably he would have to get up to fetch what they needed. He tried to get up but Arthur pulled him back down on top of him playfully, nipping his lip. He detangled himself giving him a quick kiss and a wink saying that he would be right back. He was so deeply pent up that it was hard to move but he went as quick as he could to the bathroom drawer for their "things" and came back to hover over Arthur on the couch who still looked as ready as ever, cock looking red, long and amazing, his pale skin was a sharp contrast to the deep brown of the sofa.

Arthur positioned himself on his stomach, knowing what was coming. Eames slipped on a condom and applied the lube to his fingers, it was the warming kind and he liked the feel of it.

He ran a hand over Arthur's arse once again just for good measure, exploring it, making him squirm and clench around his fingers.

He entered him with a finger and fucked him slowly, Arthur moving in rhythm with him a few seconds later, fucking back into his finger, gripping the couch, uttering things into the cushion.

He got him good and stretched with his fingers, liking the feel of his pink muscle.

Arthur was pleading with him now like he totally lost his mind but Eames needed to do something first. He removed his fingers, spread him wide and fucked him with his tongue.

"Eames, God, please…"

"You said you liked my tongue and me exploring your ass so I thought I'd give you both," he teased, gliding his tongue in and out some more for good measure.

"God, Eames, fuck me…"

He didn't need to be told twice.

He entered him quickly and roughly without warning like Arthur liked, long, quick strokes, his pelvis crashing into him.

With his still lubed up hand he worked Arthur in his hands.

It didn't take long at all before Arthur came in his hands, wet and steaming and Eames was close behind, releasing everything he had, clutching his hips tightly as he shuddered into sweet release.

They both collapsed on the couch after, Eames still inside him, liking the feel as he felt the aftershocks ripple through his body.

"Shit," he whispered into his back, kissing it.

Arthur laughed lightly. "We made quite a mess."

After his heart rate slowed to a somewhat normal level he chanced moving positions, removing himself from inside Arthur to his grunt of disappointment, him mumbling "sorrys", Arthur kissing him and telling him that it was all right, that he was marvelous and he lied on the couch so that Arthur was resting on his chest, snuggled against him, practically glowing from the fantastic sex.

He traced his fingers over his tattoos and sighed, his lids looking heavy. Eames squeezed him tighter to him, loving his closeness and felt incredibly tired as well. They had stayed up all night successfully and even into the early morning.

Eames glanced over his shoulder and squinted. In the faint early morning light he could see that it had stopped snowing finally. He decided he needed to tell him the good news.

"It stopped snowing, pet."

When he didn't hear a response he jostled him a little, only getting a little snore in return.

Eames smiled warmly. He had totally tuckered out the point man. He had also won the first deal but as Eames watched the steady rhythm of his beautiful chest rising and falling he realized he didn't care. If Arthur asked later he would just lie and say he wasn't sure who won. Again because he was worth it and feeling satisfied that he wasn't bored of him. The night a win in his mind. He kissed the top of his head, held him close and fell into a deep sleep himself.


	8. Afterwards

Afterwards

They slept into the early afternoon. Both of them feeling great but also lazy when they woke, they had a lot of cleaning up to do. Their flat was a disaster area with scrabble pieces and clothes everywhere, not to mention their poor couch.

They were starving afterwards and Eames made them an early dinner, wearing his apron and only the apron to Arthur's delight. The brought upon a whole new slew of a sexy round two but both were far too famished to really go too far.

They shared a cigarette on their balcony after they ate, watching the many snow plows below. Cobb called and said that if the weather permitted that they would meet tomorrow morning. Eames couldn't help but notice the disappointment flash in Arthur's eyes, it turning to hard seriousness a second later. He wasn't sure what to make of that.

He succumbed that he lost the second deal and after they showered together he let Arthur shave him and he had to admit that he did look rather good afterwards.

He also succumbed to losing the third deal and confessed as they changed into clean clothes that he devised the evening because he thought Arthur was growing bored. Arthur came up to him at once, adjusting Eames' collar of his shirt, pulling him into a kiss. "Never," he breathed into his skin, smiling.

"Don't ever think that."

They talked about it, Eames knowing it was part of the deal and confessing he thought Arthur was being colder towards him as of late. Arthur confessed he was cold but not intentionally towards him but from a temperature stand point. "You moved in the beginning of May. You haven't lived with me during the winter. I just tend to get crabbier since I hate snow and I'm always feeling cold. That and we've been stuck indoors so much."

Eames just shook his head. "Why don't we go somewhere warmer then?"

Arthur seemed to chew on that, eyebrows furrowed, saying he couldn't believe he didn't think of that. He agreed that was a grand idea after they finished their current job, kissing him to further drive home the point.

Since they still weren't completely plowed out they lounged around, having drinks to keep them warm, eventually watching TV into the later evening. Arthur was lying on the newly cleaned couch with his head in Eames' lap. Eames stroked his face and ears, Arthur batting his hand away playfully.

Arthur turned to him after a while.

"Thank you for yesterday."

Eames wasn't expecting that as it came from absolutely nowhere and very unlike him.

Eames ran a hand over his leg affectionately.

"No need to thank me. I sucked you into my devious schemes."

A slow smile appeared on Arthur's face.

"I loved your devious schemes and I know you won the first deal."

Eames shrugged and yawned not wanting to hide it from him but not really wanting to discuss it.

"I love you."

His words gripped him hard, paralyzing him, his mouth went dry.

They stared at each other for while, Arthur was smiling faintly.

"But I'm not even doing anything," he pathetically whispered after what felt like an eternity.

Arthur's grin widened and he shrugged. "That's why. I think I realized that by just having your company makes me incredibly happy. Why I love you so much. You're just you."

Eames smiled. "And you said you weren't good at expressing yourself," he poked his ribs.

He blushed a little. "Not like you."

"So I don't have to do anything extraordinary and you'll still love me, not get bored of me?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, smiling, turning to face him some more.

"Everything you do is extraordinary."

He was incredibly happy that he said it even though he told himself again and again it didn't matter but it did.

After a lengthy make out session on the couch Eames broke away.

He glanced at his watch noticing it was midnight; time had slipped through their fingers.

"It's getting late luv we should be nodding off. We have to go in early tomorrow."

He started to get up when Arthur put out a hand to stop him.

"Stay up with me"

Eames settled into the couch again and laughed.

"Arthur we have to go in tomorrow. We'll be plowed out completely by then and Cobb called…"

Arthur drew him into a kiss, silencing him.

He released him a short time later. "What? Are you afraid of being too cranky in the morning? I'll make a deal with you."

Arthur reached for his glass of wine taking a drink.

Eames suppressed a grin. Having Arthur think it was his idea was always a little too easy sometimes. This time it would be all up to him.

"Yes, let's make a deal but are we staying up all night?"

Arthur put his glass down throwing him a devilish look.

"Oh, quite possibly. Don't worry I'll be gentle."

Eames knew it was going to be another long night.

He couldn't wait.

* * *

**A/N: I've loved this story immensely and had a total blast writing it! I hope you enjoyed it as much as me!**

**I am very tempted to do a sequel, from Arthur's POV so we can see Eames in his eyes. It would be his turn to run amuck, be "in control", and have his "fantasies/kinks" played out with complications of course as Eames is really the one in control or is he? Maybe Arthur knows that Eames is the one pulling the strings? You know nothing is never cut and dry with them!**

**Please review you guys I need to know if this story is good/sucks/warrants a sequel/etc!**


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